


Hurricane

by morganya



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-15
Updated: 2009-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least it's never boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurricane

"Travie, the fuckin' kids are being brainwashed. They're going to grow up not knowing shit."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know, you called me."

"Gabe, you called _me_. It's way too early to talk to your dumb ass."

*****

Gabe seems to have some kind of telepathy where Travis' schedule is concerned. It never fails; he's either minding his own business, trying to play Halo on the couch like a normal person, or he's just staggering in, bleary-eyed and hoping he gets his shoes off before passing out, and within ten minutes there's pounding on the door and Gabe shouting, "Let me in, you son of a bitch, I don't got all night."

Sometimes he stays ten minutes and sometimes he stays until dawn. The end result is the same: DVDs rifled through, cigarettes stolen, Travis' organic soy crisps eaten and spilled over the kitchen counters, Xanax bottles raided, damp towels on the bathroom floor. Travis is always left hungover, baffled and suspiciously regarding his silent apartment, waiting for the next visitation of Hurricane Gabriel.

*****

"I'm not going to call myself an artist anymore. It's all bullshit. You're either making money selling fuckin' shitty representations of what you can see in the real world, or you're doing what you should be doing and creating art for art's sake while you're fuckin' living in a cave somewhere. Fuckin' Warhol. This is his fault, Trav."

"You really think that's the way it is? Fuck, I'd love to stay under my covers and just throw some paint around so I don't fuckin' go crazy, but I gotta fuckin' eat too, you know? You think art becomes bullshit when you bring money into it?"

"It becomes bullshit when you bring _humanity_ into it. Hey, you want to go get Pinkberry later?"

*****

The night's passed in a blur of bars and shitty music, ending in an almost-fight at some dive that really wasn't worth the hassle. They only just escaped getting arrested because of a conveniently placed side door.

They're going through Central Park, and Travis thinks they may as well be wearing 'please mug us' signs around their necks, and he just wants to get through this so they can find a cab. Gabe suddenly stops muttering to himself about the asshole who picked a fight with him and says, "Check this out."

In Gabe-world, check this out is always the prelude to something that's either awesome or a horrible idea. Travis says, "I'm checked out."

"Don't be a pussy." Gabe is walking into the dark without him. Travis doesn't have a choice. He follows Gabe's obnoxious yellow shirt up Pilgrim Hill. Gabe balances awkwardly on the base of the statue. "Come on up."

"Are you nuts?"

Gabe grabs onto the statue's foot and hauls himself up, barely able to find room. What little ass he has is sticking straight up in the air. He pushes himself to his knees and stands, teetering. "Come on, what've you got to lose?"

"I try to climb up on that thing, then my ass is going to the hospital. I'm not going to blow my knee out again because you get some idea in your head –"

"Hey, I'll carry you to the ER bridegroom-style," Gabe says. "Come on up here with me."

"You're an asshole," Travis says, but he allows himself to be hauled up.

"What've you been eating?" Gabe says, wrapping an arm around his back and tugging.

"Put your damn back into it, dude."

There's barely enough room for either of them. Travis is bracing himself against the statue's bronze musket and trying not to topple off. Gabe keeps one arm around him, casually, but holding himself rigid to try to absorb any damage.

"Look," Gabe says, and motions with his free hand, pointing at the stars. "Fuckin' millions of dead suns."

"Nice image," Travis says, but tilts his head back, watching Gabe point, tracing the outline of the stars with his index finger.

*****

"Dude, I'm lookin' at this girl, I swear to God she wants to fuck me. I don't know if I should."

"Gabe?"

"I think she's out of my league. I don't think she knows that though."

"Gabe, why are you calling me on the phone when I'm fuckin' standing right next to you?"

*****

Gabe kisses like he's issuing a challenge. It's never a hi-how-are-you peck on the cheek, or a you-are-so-cute-I-could-just-eat-you kiss, it's always rough hands on the back of the neck, lips mashing against lips, Gabe's eyes wide open to see the reaction. He does it when he's bored, or if he thinks no one's paid enough attention to him, or maybe, sometimes, to show that he's so not gay that he can just make out with other dudes, no problem.

The first couple of times, Travis was left sitting there with sore lips, wondering what had just happened, and Gabe acting like nothing had happened, picking up his drink or continuing the conversation without pausing for breath. The morning after always brought contrite phone calls or Gabe swinging by with tired eyes, offering to let Travis kick his ass or something.

Travis starts kissing back just to see what will happen. Gabe grabs him in the middle of a joking argument about soap operas and plants one on him, all tongues and teeth, and it shuts him up for a second. Gabe pulls back, a 'beat that' look on his face, and Travis wipes his mouth with his hand. Gabe smirks.

"Oooh, _baby_ ," Travis says, and tackles him.

Gabe makes it a point to follow through. Travis should have expected that. They're rolling on the floor, and it probably either looks like amorous tussling or a seizure, and Gabe shows no signs that he's going to be the one to stop it. Travis thinks that there's not really a limit to how far Gabe will go to prove a point, whether it's drinking or working or fucking.

Afterwards, Gabe says, "I never knew daytime TV got you so hot and bothered."

*****

"I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"Gabe, where are you?"

"Fuckin' bodies, Travie. Why do we need fuckin' bodies, anyway? They're just breaking down."

*****

Gabe shows up at the door with a black eye and a puffy lip, saying, "You should see the other guy." It's two in the morning and Travis hasn't been able to sleep for three days.

Still, he brings Gabe in and slaps an ice pack on him before he returns to the video game. Gabe sits and quietly watches him kill alien hordes.

"You're gonna get yourself into something you can't handle one of these days," Travis says, talking to the TV screen.

"I'm kind of looking forward to that," Gabe says. "Push the levels of existence."

"That doesn't make much sense."

"I'm just looking for a release," Gabe says. "Some kind of thing. You ever wondered why I always fight with people?"

"Not my business to wonder. Do you?"

"Yeah, but the answers are never any good." Gabe watches him kill things some more.

"What do you do when I'm not around?" Travis says. "Find someone else to look after you?"

"Hey, I don't _need_ to be looked after. I'm not a kid."

"That mean you don't want the ice pack anymore?"

"No, dude, that can stay."

Travis gets bored with the game and turns it off, switching to late night cable access. Gabe says, "I think we both fuckin' missed the lesson on how to be grownups."

"Maybe you did. I'm a grown-ass man."

"Yeah, you're a grownup with a fuckin' stupid idiot crashing on your couch at ass o'clock in the morning. You barely pass."

"Ingrate." Travis changes channels. "You hungry?"

"I'm getting tired of proving to myself that I'm alive."

Travis looks over. Gabe's mouth looks like a duck bill. "You don't have to prove anything, Gabe."

"I don't think that's right," Gabe says.

Travis leans back, stretches his arms wide on the couch. It takes a second, but Gabe slumps into his lap, head on his thigh. Travis straightens up. They stare at the TV screen.

"This is a shitty show," Gabe says.

"Don't watch it then," Travis says. Gabe mutters something insulting about his taste. Travis puts a hand on his head, winding tight black curls around his fingers, waiting for Gabe to relax, for his breathing to even.

*****

"What's going on, Gabe?"

"Nothing. Just wanted someone to talk to for a while."


End file.
